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Stone Porch Perch

  
Here the vine grows eight feet
a minute our hostess winks
twining one stray shoot
back onto another at the mother frame
The left side of her face
stilled by stroke

These green lithe limbs resemble
grape stems  the sky goes
rose   we hear every
punctuation     mark every trill

mourning doves     the rub of
wings against the dusk
just out of sight
goats caw      then further
anxious rising flotilla
of fenced-in puppies

loosed from shoes    feet rest 
one white wicker ottoman
chairs rock   reluctantly
lazy sloped roof  & length of road
in front     occasionally      a car
as if lost

a telephone